On a More Serious Note

Her body knelt towards the cobblestone walk, her head bent low under the weight of lonliness. She tried to raise her eyes to the sky, yet as the horizon met her gaze, she was thrown towards the ground once again. Her shoulders arched towards the sunlit canopy of the sky, but her strength alone would not suffice. As her heart sunk into desperate despair, a gentle touch encircled her hand. She glanced ahead, wary of the fingertips on her wrist. A gaze met hers and poured its quietness into her soul. He was kneeling ahead of her, hand on her wrist, heart in his eyes, pulling her towards him strongly, passionately, but with a tenderness that melted the burden on her shoulders. No longer was the cobblestone against her, instead a man. He raised her to her knees, lifted her burden, and pulled her closer to his heart. Yet, as he took her burden, he fell to his knees. Her eyes filled with tears as he struggled with the weight and silently, she dragged the burden again to her shoulders and fell at his side. He pulled her to him and with her, the weight. She lay, head on his chest, burden on her back, and traced the stones around his body. Together, they pushed the burden to the ground between them and, kneeling, gazed at the weight. Slowly, their gaze turned to each other. She, overwhelmed by him, began to swoon until his touch, that gentle hand that so sweetly took her burden, carressed her face and awakened her. She glanced skyward, absorbing all that she hadn't seen before and he noticing her wonder, pulled her to her feet and lifted her as close to her sky as he could. She felt the wind in her hair, the sun on her cheek, his arms round her waist and she breathed deeply the air of freedom. When he set her feet back on the cobblestones, she flew with the breeze round every bush and every tree to explore the land previously unknown to her. He, worried he would lose his precious angel, chased her, sweeping branches and leaves out of his way. His eyes searched violently for his beloved til he found her. Her arms outstretched to the sky, the wind playing in her hair, body heaving from sheer joy at all she saw, she stood on a cliff facing the end of the world. Worried for her safety, he swept her up in his arms and away from the edge. As he set her down, she took his warm hand in her own and pulled him with her as she explored the sky, the earth, the sea, her attention ever fleeting from one place to another, always landing on him, her rock. Again they returned to her cliff. He could feel her heart beat in his own and he lifted her hands again to the sky. They felt the breeze in their hair, the air in their chests, and he felt the wonder she felt coursing through her body. He knew, she knew, they knew, that they had found what they hadn't known they were searching for.

It's Been Too Long

Sorry for my complete lack of posting in the last month. However, I would like to inform you that this isn't my fault. I was in Europe. So you know, Europe is a fine place, filled with fine food, and fine people, but the internet there apparently sucks a lot. That is why I haven't posted. Well, that and my creative muse hasn't smacked me upside the head in quite a while. Actually, she still hasn't smacked me. I've had my head in the clouds, you see.
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So today, instead of the usual snappy entertainment, I shall provide you with something. I'm not quite sure what yet, but as my fingers keep typing, I'm sure I'll come up with something. Or not.
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Did you know that Batman II: The Dark Knight comes out on July 18?! You should because it's going to be amazing. Absolutely amazing. I'm really excited as you can tell. But I get to see it before you poor suckers because I work at a movie theatre. BAHAHA! We watch it the night before. However, I need a date to that. So, if you live near me and want something to do on July 17, let me know. Please. I would be quite embarrassed if I showed up alone.

Co-Worker Frank

I keep forgetting to include co-worker Frank in my blogs. Very early in my blogging career, I promised you that co-worker Frank would have a major role in my blogging life. I'm afraid he has not since appeared. So, I will hammer upon my imagination to create a tale of mystery, horror, murder, sex, and Frank.
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Once upon a time, there was co-worker Frank. He looked exactly how you would image him to look, except he had glasses. Don't try to fool me, I know you didn't imagine him with glasses, but he has them. They are very important to this story. Anyways, as Frank was driving to work on his scooter, he noticed a small mouse sitting on the sidewalk. He stopped in front of the mouse and said, "Hello, little fellow, how might you be this fine day?"
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The mouse looked up at Frank and raised one of his eyebrows. "You can talk?!"
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"Aye."
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"Oh," said the mouse."I haven't met a human that can talk before."
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As co-worker Frank continued to chat with the mouse about how all humans talk, bystander Phil walked by. He heard co-worker Frank squeaking to a small, tattered, stuffed mouse on the side walk, stared for approximately 4 seconds, and ran away.
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The End

Broccoli Soup

Do you know what my favorite part of puking is? Remembering what you ate. Have you ever noticed that after you puke, you always think, "Oh, I forgot I ate that bowl of potato soup. Damn, that was good soup!"? Well, I don't always think that. In fact, I only thought that today since I was driving in my car to school and I looked beside me. BOOM! I puked and noticed some broccoli sitting beside me. "That wasn't there before," I say to myself. "But of course, I ate that for lunch!"

Crowbars

Late night debates are fantastic. I would like you to know that if you have not had a late night debate, you should. You come up with illogical conclusions and nonexistant words to back them up. I even have a couple examples of these kind of debates.

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First, I was in Calgary, Alberta last night. That place is really scary. I figured I was going to get shot all night. Then Greg made fun of me. It was truly frightening. Wait, that wasn't a debate at all. Crap, this no sleep thing is getting to me....

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Oh, wait! Here's one. So my friend Mike and I were talking. I said something about hitting someone in the knees with a crowbar. He replied with, "Well, getting hit in the knees with a crowbar would really hurt, but not as much as getting hit in the shins would." Well, I disagree entirely. I would have you know that shattered knee caps are much more painful than bruised shin bones. Also, there are more nerves in the knee than in the shin.

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Since I couldn't prove my point with just words, I decided to test my theory. Actually, my mind subconsciously decided to test this theory. I had a vision. I say vision because dreams are fake and nothing I do is fake. So anyways, I had a vision. In it, I hit this one guy in the shin with a crow bar. He was like, "Well, that was painful." Then I went to the next fellow who was the exact same guy except that I hadn't hit him in the shins. I hit him in the knee caps. He screamed in pain and then died.

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So you see, if you get hit in the knees with a crowbar, you DIE.

Cheeseballs: God's Greatest Triumph or Classical Conditioning

It's like 2 in the morning. I am still awake. I should not be since I have to pick Greg up at like 8 30 tomorrow, but what is more entertaining than a late night blog? Nothing, goddamnit!

I was thinking this evening as I was dancing like an awesome person would dance at a bar, What could make this better? Then the answer came to me. It could be better if Paul was here, or if I didn't suck so much at dancing, or if there was a cheeseball. Frick, cheeseballs are kickass. Ponder this for a moment. No. Stop it. You're reading too fast. You know what? I. am. going. to type. with. periods. between. the. words. so. you. read. slower. This. will. make. you. contemplate. cheeseballs. better. Anyways, cheeseballs are an incredible gift from God. They make plain crackers taste not so sucky. They are also perfect for putting spy microphones in. I learned that from Inside Man. You can't put lots of microphones in sammiches because they don't spark conversation. I mean, who has a conversation about a sammich? No one. You can put microphones in pizza because it gives people something to crowd around. Cheeseballs do the same, but better because cheeseballs loosen the human tongue. If you want national secrets, taunt a person with a cheeseball. They will never be able to resist. If you want to find the coordinates for Nicholas Cage's house so you can egg it, use a cheeseball. Damn, I hate Nicholas Cage. He is probably the worst actor ever. I mean, how could anyone relate to him? He looks like a stoned horse. Gosh, he sucks. I didn't even go see his last couple movies because they would have sucked because he's in them. Man, Nicholas Cage blows. I'ma gonna stab him.

(Please note: I will not stab Nicholas Cage. Don't arrest me!)

My Version of "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat"

So I am in a production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. I am the narrator. Shut up, everyone. That's the female lead. Anyways, as Nick, Rachel, and I were practicing today (Nick is Joseph and Rachel is the orchestra), we were possessed by a soul of Andrew Lloyd Weber. He announced to us, through me (of course), that he designed this musical to be a giant Biblical acid trip.
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First off, there is no "children's choir", there is a group of gremlins. They dance around and are a mockery of Joseph's sanity. The Narrator is the person having the trip. All of this is in her head. Trust me, the musical would be so fucking cool that way. I mean, imagine the colours of a drug trip and the absence of children. Sweet mother of god, that would awesome.

How do these people get into Uni?

I had a funny Classics class today. Have you ever had one of those days where all the stupid people in the world decide to leave their houses? That was my day today. In fact, I shall show you. Trust me, you'll probably laugh. It shall be like a play. I will entitle it "Please Kill Yourself Now".

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Student 1: I don't understand this class. I mean, Zeus has a whole bunch of statues, but he's not real, right?

Laura and I: HAHAHAHA!

Prof: Poseidon is the god of the sea, earthquakes, and horses. Now who can tell me what the connection is between the sea and horses?

Student 2: Well, in Lord of the Rings, there are white caps that are shaped like horses.

Prof: Ummm...okay?

Laura and I: HAHAHAHA!

Student 3: What's a white cap?
Prof: (pause) It's one of those waves that you windsurf on that's white...

Laura and I: *shakes heads*

Prof: What's the connection between the sea and earthquakes?

Student 1: Rivers get cut apart like roads.

Laura and I: *twitch*

Prof: Now Poseidon could be represented by a stallion, which also can represent virility.

Student 3: What does 'virility' mean?

Prof: Powerfully sexual. Kinda like fertility.

Laura and I: *silently cry*

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Can anyone tell me how this happened? How in sweet Heaven's name did this amount of stupidity go through security undetected? How did these people get into university?! Good God! Anyways, it did brighten up my day and, I'm sure, Laura's day.

To the stranger...

To the guy that wanted me to adopt a black kid,
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I'm sorry, I am a selfish bastard. I still feel bad.
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Love,
Becka

Bunnies and Concussions

I boughts me a bunny today! I'm not even being metaphorical here. It's name is Dandelion. I have decided that it is a boy, but Paul thinks it looks like a girl. It's white with markings around it's eyes that look like black eyeliner. He/she is my love bunny. Paul and I were going to buy a love cactus, but I couldn't find one. Then I found a love venus fly trap, but that felt a little weird. I did find some love fake grass, but that didn't really say what I wanted to about our relationship. I had given up on my search for a love object, when, on our anniversary, Paul and I went to the pet store. That is where I found Dandelion. He is pretty much amazing. And he replaces my previous bunny Whisper very well. I woke up this morning to him hitting his head on a cardboard box. What a way to start the day. Then I picked him up and he had spent the last 20 minutes licking my face. Now he's playing with the buttons on my laptop. See? He's a genius bunny. I bet he'll grow up to be an astronaut or something.

Oh yeah, I hit my head yesterday and concussed myself.

The Internet Teacher

I learned a lot of neat shit today. First, did you know that love is in the hair? I didn't. I assumed it was somewhere near the brain or heart area. Oh! The hair is near the brain. Maybe hair is love oozing out of the brain.

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I also learned that if you go to a website called "Ask Canadians" or something like that, we can stop diced ham cookies from raiding our nation. Afghanistan? Pfft, we need to deal with the real problem: diced ham cookies. I bet you can't get a disease from consuming Afghanistan. Well, maybe you wouldn't get a disease from the cookies if they were cooked well. I might have to try that. Just maybe. I mean, it can't be that bad, especially compared with the things I've eaten. Have you ever eaten a live fish? They actually swim up your esophagus. Yeah, you can feel the little bugger's fins slapping against the inside of your neck. Bet you didn't need to hear that. OH! Once I ate a bit of cow lung. You bite into it and all the juices come out, but when you open your jaw, it's like a sponge. Everything, including your saliva, gets sucked into what you just bit down on. That's not a fantastic feeling either.

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The moral of the story is: fish and cow lungs are gross, therefore don't trust the internet.

Papercuts: Satan's Greatest Weapon

I was thinking today as I mopped the blood off my brow, I hate papercuts. It's one of those annoying pains that likes to bleed a lot, but gets you zero attention. For example, you are sitting at your desk at the office. You are going through papers when all of the sudden, a bastard form decides to explore the flesh of your index finger. Just as you quietly explore the depths of your vocabulary, the guy that sits next to you drops his computer on his foot causing a toe to fall off. Not only is your wound not cared for in the proper manner (with several very attractive models tending to your every need), but no one even notices you bleeding into a kleenex. When you try to mention it, Friend/Co-worker Frank (he will come up a lot in our future blogs) says, "Yow, but did you see [insert dumbass, attention hog co-worker with one less toe's name]'s foot?" Well no shit, you saw his foot, but does that really have anything to do with your paper cut? No. In fact, it has less to do with your paper cut then a dolphin with an eating disorder has to do with a plate with a picture of the child you were thinking of adopting, but then got too busy to call the agency back and then felt too bad to talk to the child again so you just left it, hoping they would forget about you. You're an ass. Read my last blog. Karma will get you.

In conclusion, Satan uses paper cuts to lure us into wells of self-loathing and doubt. I mean, who will love themselves if their hands are covered in paper cuts? Or worse yet, paper cut scars. I vote we never use paper again and put the Devil in his place: the forests of Manhattan.

Just when I promised I wouldn't...

Sweet Jesus Murphy. I am blogging. I won't lie to you, it's because I am too poor to afford paper. Also, I can almost type as fast as I can think. Almost. I'm sure that this is Karma's way of sticking her tongue out at me and saying, "I told you so, bitch!". Damn you. Meh, something good better come out of this otherwise, I'm going to feel like a dumbass. Hopefully no one sees this. If you're reading this, damn you. Karma will find you as well.

And to begin:

If you had the choice between a very nice vacuum cleaner or a time machine, which would you pick? How much do you want to bet that you would pick the vacuum. No, you would. Think of it this way. At first, you'll pick the time machine. You'll probably spend some time going back five minutes before, feeling time race past you as you soar through the impossible. Then you'll get bored of the feeling and actually want to travel really far back. You'll probably go to the 1990s. You're a trooper now, eh? When the '90s get boring (which you know they will. C'mon! It's the '90s!), you go back even farther. We will say the year 1900. Before you know it, you'll be racing through time seeing all the things you've dreamed of. Then you'll start noticing changes in yourself. All of the sudden, you'll be pregnant (even if you're a dude) or have no arms. You realize that your mere presence at the moments you've travelled to had a direct consequence affecting you. Holy mother! You'll go back to the year 2008 and find that we haven't even invented toasters or, even worse, vacuums! HA! And on top of that, you'll have 95 kids (due to recent fertility experiments), a husband, and six semi-attractive wives that speak in a weird dialect you can't understand. You'll be so destraught, you'll go back in time and pick the vacuum. Karma's a bitch.